Vibe : "Writings"

String Theory

At first glance she looked still and dead.
I’m always unsettled
by the thought of her dying.
A closer look:
her tiny body,
lifting
descending
lifting
descending.

The ice was snoring.
Or better yet,
groaning in rhythm.
If it was sleep
it seemed uncomfortable.
The lake’s water restlessly
nudging it with a persistent question:
Can you feel?
Can you feel anything at all?

[I thought about jumping into the lake. It kind of looked like a dessert. My body a dumb spoon cracking creme brulee, or that chocolate syrup that hardens when you squeeze it. Just like me. I imagine freezing up, becoming stiff, regretting it. I get anxious by ledges, anyhow. I don’t fear myself pushing me over; I worry about that person who I’m bound to. That she’ll pull me in against my will in such a way where it becomes more of a push, because she’s trying to disconnect before my weight pulls her down as well.]

This string is a fetter.
Born out of intimacy.
Sex, arguments,
bumping noses.
I don’t want to feel anymore.
I gnaw at my string
while I’m nudged with the question:
Can you feel anything at all?
Yes, damn it.

Her actions confirm my suspicions
I get one last glance at her,
as I feel her
pull/push me in.
She labors
to separate our fetter.
She knows she can’t,
and with full resignation,
averts eye contact.

I pull her in after me.

(06.2011)